Nurse The Hate

Friday, November 30, 2012

Nurse the Hate: The Chicago Bears and Randy Bachman

It’s time to swagger into the weekend after last week’s
triumphant turn of events.I would
like to note that I will be scaling back the size of the wager so as to not
develop a large gambling problem, and keep it comfortably nestled into the
“small gambling problem” area.I
think we can all agree if a series of four digit wagers go wrong and you have
to sell your car, it’s hard to look like a happening guy on an inner city RTA
Bus. "I'm coming over. What's your address again? Are you on the RTA Red line? OK, see you in an hour and a half."

Still, I do feel as if I have
more control on a wild ass NFL football wager than on any of my mutual funds in
my 401K, so maybe we’ll meet in the middle on the size of the play.If I lose, I will point to “factors out
of my control” like those stockbroker assholes do and shrug it off.It’s shocking I feel more comfortable
taking financial advice from Mike “The Lizard” Mancuso than some schmo in a
$1000 Brooks Brothers suit.At
least “The Lizard” will tell you he blew the game, whereas I don’t ever recall
a financial advisor saying “I totally misread the market.It turns out people are going to buy
lots of Apple Computers.We should
have bought lots of that stock when you brought that up to us. Sorry Greg. We blew that one.”

Let’s get into things that we have total control over.Things like the Cincinnati
Bengals.I really like Cincinnati
this week.Cincinnati will break
your heart like a prom date, and I realize this.I am still going into this with my arms spread open with
nothing but love and forgiveness from what they have done to me in the past.My beloved San Diego Chargers lost a
heartbreaking game last week where they somehow allowed a 4th and 29
conversion at the end of regulation send the game into OT.There’s something you don’t see
everyday.From there, they of
course lost as Chargers coach Norv Turner once again takes his and loses to yours (or he’ll
take yours and lose to his).I
have to believe that San Diego will have no motivation out there as the players
will be focused on fish tacos, off season vacation plans, and not getting hurt.You ever been to San Diego?It’s a lot more fun when you
aren’t in a cast or wearing a knee brace.Cincinnati -1.5 all day long.

People in Chicago are very excited about the Bears.They are always excited about the
Bears, but this year especially so.This is setting themselves up for disappointment.The Bears are pretty good, but let’s
not lose our minds.Jay Cutler is
running for his life every week, and eventually some big scary guys are going
to go beyond giving him a concussion and will instead leave his brains leaking
out of his helmet like a squashed melon.The Bears have so many injuries that I believe they just signed Randy
Bachman of Bachman Turner Overdrive to play Right Tackle, although that may
just be a wild Internet rumor.

While I know that Seattle last won on the road in 1978 on a
soggy field at RFK stadium after a Humble Pie concert, I think they will stay
within three points against the Bears.This flies right in the face of the fact that the Seahawks only cover
33% of the time on the road.But I
did look up the fact that the Pete Carroll Seahawks have covered 13 of 16 as an
underdog. This may also be a wild unsubstantiated Internet rumor. I think these two teams
will try to run and play field position and keep the score low.That’s where having that extra half
point is large.Take Seattle +3.5.

Thursday, November 29, 2012

Nurse the Hate: The Shocking Lottery Loss

You can imagine my disbelief this morning when I did not win
the Powerball Lottery jackpot of $500 million dollars.I had felt extremely confident that I had the
situation under control with my purchase of five tickets, yet somehow the
jackpot slipped right through my fingertips.It will be an especially difficult day after my actions of the last
twelve hours.

I was so drunk with confidence that after purchasing what I believed
to be the winning ticket I told my immediate supervisor at work to “drink a big
glass of fuck” or something to that effect.After shitting on the floor by my workplace cubicle like an angry chimp,
I walked out the door while calling to place a rather large deposit on a mink
pleasure boat and diamond encrusted kitchen sink on my credit card. As I drove home I made various phone calls to
tell off any and all persons with which I had a grievance, effectively burning
the bridges to most of my personal relationships.I also have some reservations about a call I
placed to Victoria’s Secret demanding they deliver seven of their models to a
clandestine hotel room in a Las Vegas resort I had made a verbal commitment to
purchase only hours earlier.There is
also a man named Manuel at that very hotel suite that will be very upset with
me after I ordered delivery of six pounds of a drug so wonderful and rare that
it doesn’t even have a name yet.

While the cold harsh light of morning shines down on my poor
decisions, I am filled with regret.I
will walk timidly back to my workplace speaking of a bad reaction to back
medication, “putting this regrettable incident behind us and looking ahead to a
mutually prosperous future”, and finish with a hand shake, downward cast eyes,
and a nod of what I hope is mutual agreement.I will then make a phone call to my credit card company claiming my
credit card was stolen by a Guatemalan street tough and swear that I have been
unconscious for the last ten hours shackled to a water tank in a basement
stronghold.I am not concerned about my relationship
with the Victoria’s Secret Corporation, though I do have some trepidation about
looking over my shoulder for the shadowy Manual over the next few years.I do remain overall optimistic about picking
up the pieces.

I was foolish to believe I would win.It is well documented that lottery winners
are generally slobs with the brainpower of a typical American Mallard Duck.Right now whoever won this unfathomable cash
haul is probably buying new rims for their 2003 Ford Bronco as opposed to creating
tax shelters and securing living quarters with Guantanamo level security.This is not my problem and I can’t spend
another moment even considering the lottery’s reward and its implications for
the spinning rim market. I need to move
on.

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Nurse the Hate: The Viking Incident

As I lay in the crosswalk blinking at the stars in the dark
black sky above my head, I realized that walking home would be more difficult
than I thought.The fact I was wearing a
loin cloth and a Viking helmet sensibly accented with black Chuck Taylors would
probably not win the affections of the local law enforcement community.Ohio, while somewhat liberal, still frowned
on drunken Vikings sprawled out in the crosswalk of four lane roadways.With all the focus and balance I could
muster, I righted myself and managed to make it the rest of the way across the
street and towards my home.

The evening had started with much promise.I was receiving an award for professionalism
in Radio, so naturally I wanted to display my respect for this honor by wearing
a costume and pretending to have misunderstood the invitation.“What?This isn’t a costume party?Oh,
imagine my embarrassment…”I truly didn’t
give a fuck, and thought if I had seen someone else do the same thing, I would
be wildly entertained.Plus, how often
do you get to speak to your peers with an exposed nipple if
you aren’t in the adult entertainment industry?

I had a plan to get together with my then girlfriend after
the event.Our relationship was rather
turbulent with many young adult dramas playing out on a regular basis.The fact that I was a completely self
involved unpredictable wild card certainly didn’t help matters.I did not have that crystal clear vision of
myself at that time, and instead focused on destructive and self destructive behavior
while in search of a good time.I could
be a lot of fun.Or not.It sort of depended on what day you got me.

Today, I made a phone call to Chops McClintock of the Krank
Daddies, who may be using the last micro cassette answering machine in the Western
Hemisphere.The reason I mention this is
it reminded me of the very same answering machine that my then girlfriend used
at the time.While I waited to leave a
message for Chops I heard the familiar “beep-beep-beep” as the machine counted
off the previous messages before you would be able to leave yours.I hadn’t heard that sound in years and the
memory all came back to me.

Let’s go back to the radio event.I had decided to drink martinis.This was extremely stupid as I never drank
one before, but thought it would look ridiculous drinking a martini in a Viking
outfit.(It did.)The martinis packed a wallop, and I headed
off to a payphone to call my girlfriend to touch base.I had been insanely jealous of what I
perceived to be her having a secret relationship with another guy that “was
just a good friend”.In my experience
any man that “is just a good friend” with an attractive woman is “just a good
friend” until he can put his wiener in her.The other option is the woman views this suitor as potential future
boyfriend material, and is keeping him in the “friend zone” until she decides to
rotate him in.Either way, this
relationship wasn’t good for me.At all.Yet I was assured that they were just good
friends.

I now know what it means to be in love. Real love is rare and precious.You may only get one shot at it in a
lifetime.While I would swear at the
time I was in love with this woman, I can now confidently say I was “sickly
obsessed” instead. There was a real desperate
darkness to the whole relationship. There probably needed to be an intervention.I still believe to this day that she may have
been some sort of demon sent to destroy me.It’s hard to believe she is probably a good Mom in a subdivision somewhere
today as me playing the role of a forgettable bullet she dodged in her
twenties.I have no idea what she saw in
me, and that was probably the main issue.Both of us knew this would be a spectacular flameout with me left in the
burning wreckage.It was just a question
of when…

So there I am, a buzzed up Viking calling her
apartment.When I got her machine it did
the strangest thing.You remember how
you used to be able to hit an access code and the machine would play your
messages back?I don’t know if I hit the
right code by accident or if the damn thing was just broken.Regardless, it began to play back a
conversation she had earlier with the “good friend”.In this conversation they discussed how they
couldn’t wait to get together and how they were totally keeping me in the
dark.Boy, did that get them
laughing.Ha, ha, ha!Then
there was discussion about some of the things he was going to do to her
physically.She purred into the phone.

This was rather disappointing.

Wait.I may have
understated the impact of hearing this.

I
was totally devastated.Completely
and totally devastated.My whole
world had collapsed.Mr. Funny Guy in
the Viking suit had a girlfriend that was right now doing unspeakable things to
a theater tech in an apartment no doubt decorated with Chianti bottles with
candles in them.He probably had a
Siamese cat and the soundtrack to “Rent”.
He probably took baths instead of showers. This was a cold slap in the face.
"I guess you aren’t so funny in that Viking outfit now are you Mr. Funny
Man?"I then proceeded to drink, thinking
this is what male role models did on TV and movies, so it was what Men did.This was, of course, a terrible idea.Getting totally shitfaced like that only
makes you go through the phases of grief.

Denial:“I must not
have heard that right.I probably dialed
the wrong number or something.” (tequila shot)Anger:“I’m going to go over
there and kick that guy’s ass and fuck up her apartment.Play me for the fool?Fuck you!”(tequila shot) Bargaining:“I
just need to talk to her.If I can just
get her alone, I’ll bet we can work it out.It’s probably my fault.I need to
go see her!” (tequila shot) Depression:“I love her man… and now she’s fucking Mr. Special Friend!I’ll never find someone like her again…Give me another shot.Nothing matters anymore.” (tequila shot)Acceptance:“Fuck her
anyway.She always was a tramp.Which way is home?”

I haven’t thought about that in years.Even now the memory is horrible.It brings up many questions.While “What is true love?”, “Can you ever really
trust someone?”, and "Was our relationship always doomed to failure?" come to mind, the real question is this…

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Nurse the Hate: The Disturbing Folger's Ad

I'm a guy that is just trying to mind his own business and keep it on the rails. I'm just sitting there, thinking about the same things I always seem to think about. Just a guy trying to get though a Sunday. The last thing I need is for a major corporation to lend their considerable resources to fucking with my mind. If you click above, you will watch something very uncomfortable. You have probably already seen it, felt the goose bumps, and tried to pick up the pieces and move on with your life. You may have already pushed this film clip into the dark recesses of your mind, hoping it never floats back to the forefront of your thoughts. But it will...

I believe that this advertisement is the most disturbing thing on television, and I am aware of the NBC show "The Voice" and the continued airing of "Beard Wars". I have no idea how this commercial was given the green light from what I assume are rational adults attempting to sell more Folger's coffee. I have no idea how the obviously incestuous story line is going to increase case sales for Folger's. Is the "incest segment" of the market really so large that you need to run an ad pinpointed directly at this population? Can someone explain why a major corporation devoted this much money to align themselves with sister/brother sex?

Let's break this thing down. The young man arrives home presumably from the airport after a lengthy tour of duty doing charitable work. You can tell from his awkwardly stenciled "Volunteer" backpack. That's the first thing you get when you join the Peace Corps. A "Volunteer" backpack. That lets everyone in Africa know that you aren't an arms dealer, but are only doing "volunteer work". He walks up to the door, but the girl is so excited she sees him though the window. This teenage girl flings open the door and he flirtatiously questions if he has the right house. Before leaving for West Africa (where he only took a small backpack but still included a scarf and knit hat amongst his meager belongings) his sister was just a girl. Now he notices, ohh la la, she is now a woman. They exchange a long loving hug.

He enters the kitchen where his sister has thoughtfully brewed Folger's coffee. His sister tells us his parents, apparently unaware of published flight schedules, waited up all night for him until finally succumbing to sleep. He breathes in the aroma of the coffee, something he claims not to have where he is in Africa despite the huge production of coffee on the continent. Upstairs Mom is in bed, breathes in deeply and urgently announces "He's here!". This is when things get very uncomfortable for the viewer...

The young man pulls a small gift out of his bag for the girl. They exchange an awkward glance as the girl fidgets with the present. She then sticks the ribbon on her brother and blurts, "You're my present this year..." There is along pause where her look changes from nervous to some kind of coy desire. He stares back at her, a longing look that he finally has to break by looking down uncomfortably, as if this moment is too much for him to acknowledge. He was the confident brother, but he has become the submissive after being undone by his sister's raw desire.

Umm, what the hell is going on here?

Is it just me, or does it seem like if Mom and Dad had walked in twenty seconds later they would have seen their daughter spread eagle on the kitchen table with their son banging away like a barnyard animal? Nobody wants to go get a cup of joe in the morning to find Sis with her brother's dick in her mouth. Well, maybe people that drink Folger's do. There is more sexual tension in that eight seconds of the commercial than any Scarlet Johannson movie, Fifty Shades of Grey book, or "Anal Nurses IV". "You are my present this year. Now, let's take off those jeans Big Man..."

What in the hell is going on with this family? Is Mom in on this too? You see how she breathed in deeply and knew the boy was home? It's like she smelled his pheromones. Is she going to watch her son and daughter get it on? What's with Dad? How asleep at the wheel is he? Everybody in his house is fucking everybody and he's just shuffling around in a blue sweatshirt. The whole thing just creeps me out really badly.

I am aware that I have a very fucked up mind. Still, I can't be the only one that sees this commercial is extremely odd. If you were standing in that room with a friend when the brother and sister did the present exchange, wouldn't you immediately turn to your friend and say, "Whoa. Did you see that? You don't think those two are like fucking or anything, do you? They can't be, right? She's just excited to see her brother... Right? Right?".

The amazing thing is that there must have been dozens of people at the ad agency and Folger's that signed off on this commercial. Are you telling me that forty people watched that and said, "Nope. Nothing to see here. This is all very natural.". It had to be some Big Cheese at the company that loved the commercial and no one else had the balls to raise their hand and say, "Jim, I agree with you that the spot is really touching, but... Well, I'm not saying that I think this, but do you think that some people might see the relationship between the brother and sister as maybe... ah... maybe a bittoo close?". I would bet a healthy stack of cash that there was plenty of talk around the old water cooler about this commercial before it aired. "Look, I'm not saying anything. If the Big Guy likes it, I like it. We'll pull the ad when The Public freaks." Amazingly this ad still chugs on.

The holidays are a very stressful time. There are more suicides now than any other time of the year. Crowded malls. Endless gifts to buy. Decorations. Holiday parties. Work functions. The Year In Review. The probable exhumation of Dick Clark for New Year's Eve. The last thing I need is to be shown a short video of a brother and sister getting ready to rut like dogs over a hot steaming mug of Folger's. I beg of you, the good people of Folger's, make it stop. Stop playing with my mind and filling it with unhealthy images. You people are sick.

Friday, November 23, 2012

Nurse The Hate: Hola Buenos Aires

It would have been a very sedate Thanksgiving if not for the Galaxy of Wagers. I followed through on my plan to "swing for the fucking fences" and put a monsterous sum of money on the three team tease I mentioned Wednesday. When you talk about risk taking behavior, this ranks right up there. But as you know with great risk comes great reward. As an insurance bet, I also placed what seemed to be a small, but in the harsh light of morning now appears insane bet on the Houston Texans on the money line. I was quite pleased with the outcome of that early game, despite what can only be referred to as "soul searching moments" as they traded missed field goals in OT. I can't recall being that uptight during midafternoon on Thanksgiving. It all came together though. The later games were laughers, and I'm now sitting on my airfare to Argentina.

Now I only have to memorize phrases like "Disculpa. No sé cómo al tango. ¿Te importa hacer el Robot?". This means "Excuse me. I do not know how to do the tango. Would you care to do The Robot?'. I will also need to know "Pido disculpas por perder el control de mis entrañas. ¿Alguien me lleve a mi hotel?" which of course means "I apologize for losing control of my bowels. Can someone carry me to my hotel?". Maybe I should memorize "El gitanome robó elpasaporte." meaning "The gypsy stole my passport.". There will be plenty of time on the flight.

This trip will be in sharp contrast to many of my international jaunts. I have lived a life where I have found myself doing numerous border crossings with Leo which has led to me jotting these phrases in my travel journal for quick and easy reference.

- "Das sindnicht meine.Das sindLeos.Nimm michan die amerikanische Botschaft." (German)- "Ce ne sont pasla mienne.Ce sontde Léo.Prenez-moià l'ambassade américaine." (French)- "Die zijnniet van mij.Dat zijnLeo's.Breng me naarde Amerikaanse ambassade." (Dutch)- "Horiekez diranirea.DutenekLeo-en.TakemeAmericanEnbaxadako." (Basque) This means "Those are not mine. Those are Leo's. Take me to the American Embassy.". This is a much more useful phrase to know in a variety of languages than "Where is the bathroom?" or "What time is it?". This is the phrase you need when guys in uniforms with automatic weapons are screaming for "your papers" and tearing apart your luggage. You don't need to know where a bathroom is then, only how to distance yourself from the careless evil leprachaun with vague understanding of Euro drug laws that circumstance placed you next to in the van. "Him? He is a stranger to me. I am an American businessman. Please take me to my Embassy." I don't really know too much about Buenos Aires except what I have seen on Travel TV and stories from friends that live there. I do know it is Summer there now and that is good. They make great Malbec wine and that is good. They tango, are into soccer, and Robert Duvall has a place there which is also good. People stopped disappearing from police death squads and that is really good. I am traveling there on crazy gambling winnings and that is really really good.Adios.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Nurse the Hate: The Galaxy of Wagers

Thanksgiving is truly a great holiday.Leisure time, drinking, football and a big
meal.What can be more American?I feel sorry for those poor saps that have to
work at Wal-Mart tomorrow.Seriously,
The American Consumer can’t wait another 12 hours to buy an X-Box at $31 off
retail?You know what happened.There was some asshole at Wal-Mart corporate
that looked at a spreadsheet that said they could make another .6% market share
if they made all their underpaid employees leave their families during the
holiday and open up.Meanwhile, those
same decision makers will be tucking into a second piece of pumpkin pie comfy at
home while those employees are doing a price check on a Barbie Beach House for some
pissed off hillbilly.The executives
will hide behind “what is good for the corporation” babble and probably a few
of them will be forced to make PR appearances helping out at the store level.Fuck those guys.

You should be free for the day and able to get together with
all the people that you deem important.Holiday
sales crap can wait until Friday.While
geography and circumstance will not enable me to have a perfect gathering,
there is still much to be thankful for this year.Mostly the opportunity for Ken and I to let
loose our annual “Galaxy Of Wagers” on Thanksgiving Football.In the past we have gambled like degenerates
on Thanksgiving games as a way to get from Noon to dinner.This day is also noteworthy for the only time
we make teaser bets.For the
uninitiated, the teaser is a bet in which you gain the advantage of moving the
line on multiple bets in exchange for having to win all elements of the bet for
it to pay off.For example, Krusty has
already declared he will be taking Houston +7, Washington +13, and the
University of Texas +3.Looks good,
right?

The great thing about the teaser is that it seems impossible
that you will lose the bet.It is
inconceivable that the Redskins will lose by more than 13 points.It can’t happen.That is the key to the teaser.It is the biggest sucker bet on the
board.You almost never win
teasers.It is a bet that is constructed
for separating stupid people from their money.When you see guys in Tapout shirts on at a Vegas sports book, they are
probably knee deep in NFL teasers.Tomorrow
we will be those stupid people.I will
most likely not be wearing a Tapout shirt though.

I decided earlier today that I want to make this
Thanksgiving especially noteworthy.I
want to have complete focus.I want to
white knuckle it.I want to really swing
for the fucking fences.I’m done with
safety nets.This is why I have decided
to bet enough money to pay for a trip to Buenos Aires next month.If I win, it will be time to stroll around
the Barrios all juiced up on Malbec with my friend Sasha in tow as a “fixer” to
help minimize international incidents.Nobody
wants to be thrown into a Buenos Aires jail screaming “Soy un americano. ¡Tómeme a mi embassy!”.(I am an American.Take me to my Embassy!)

I don’t
think I would do especially well in Argentine prison.I think there are a lot of burly guys in
1970s mustaches that would do terrible things to me in “the yard”.I also envision the guards yelling at me in
Spanish while I said things like “What?I don’t understand… Ow!Ow!Stop hitting me with that baton!”Then
again, if the Redskins keep it close, I will have mucho pesos to throw
around.I will probably have to buy a
white suit with a matching hat to comfortably glide around Buenos Aires as “new
money” but I will factor that cost into the wager.You must look the part in the Paris of South
America.

As of
this moment I am considering the following:

Houston
Texans +7

Washington
Redskins +13

New
England Patriots +3

Three
team tease (a sucker bet destined to lose)

I
will also make major plays on Houston -3 early and if still chasing late, the
University of Texas -7.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Nurse the Hate: Still Hate Black Friday

The holidays are all about traditions.Turkey on Thanksgiving.Putting up the Christmas tree.Stringing lights.Creepy Mall Santas.Chestnuts roasting on an open fire.Jack Frost nipping at your toes.Me being irritated by “Black Friday”
shoppers…

This morning there was the annual article in the newspaper
about Black Friday “deals” and the lengths that Rubes will go to secure one of
these bait n’ switch scams.In the
accompanying photo to the story is some dude in a Dio shirt that has been
camped out in front of Best Buy since Thursday so he can reel in the savings. Let me
repeat that…Thursday.This gentleman has nothing to do for eight
days except wait outside of a Best Buy in freezing temperatures so he can save a
couple hundo on a TV set.Let’s break
this down…

Let’s assume that the guy in the Dio shirt does not have a
very good job.I say that first because
of the Dio shirt, which is a clear indication that you aren’t on “the fast
track” in your career.I have been to a
number of pretty high brow business events, and I can’t ever
recall hearing “Rainbow In The Dark” or “Holy Diver” blasting out at the Ritz
Carlton Chicago lobby.But let us not
get caught up in an argument on the merits or lack thereof in regards to the
discography of one Ronald James Dio.No,
the real question is who has eight days to devote to camping in a strip plaza?

I don’t have eight days to lay out in Jamaica.I slipped out of town for five and that was
pushing it.I can’t think of anyone I
know that has eight days to sit around to do nothing.I would like to point out that I also know
some, shall we say, “colorful” characters that have more leisure time than should
be expected in American Society.I know
a guy in a trailer that writes plays that will never be produced that is too
busy for this sort of “urban camping” expedition.Years ago I knew a guy that I only saw move off his
bed to shit and get cigarettes.I didn’t
even know for sure if he had legs.That
guy wouldn’t even sit in a tent for eight days.

So let’s assume that this person in the tent is doing it
because they can’t afford to miss out on the savings.If this is the case, he may be waiting for
the advertised RCA 42-inch plasma at $199 down from $499.Hey, who doesn’t want to save $300,
right?So our man in the Dio shirt is in
a position to save $300 and all he has to do is give up 192 of his hours to
save that $300 (eight days X 24 hours= 192 hours).Based on that, his time is worth $1.56 an
hour.Or he could work 38 hours at Taco
Bell at minimum wage, buy that stupid TV at his convenience and reward himself
with 150 hours he could spend jacking off and listening to Dio.Me?I’m serving up XXL Steak Nachos and getting the lotion…

Therefore I think we can assume that Dio Guy is not doing it
for the savings.Hence, he must like the
attention and the camaraderie of the other Rubes in the line.Sitting in a strip plaza in a tent is unusual
behavior, and there must be a steady stream of people talking to him.“How long you been out here?Since Thursday!Whoa!”This is probably some of the only positive interaction a guy with those
glasses and that Dio shirt is likely to have.I think we can both agree that he is not suavely meeting the ladies at
his local chicken wing bar on their 80s Metal Night.I think we can also rule out Book Clubs (no
books in photo), Church Groups (they don’t like the Satanic t-shirts he wears),
shopping malls (note out of date eyewear and 80s style ripped jeans), and gyms
(little puffy… he may want to hit the treadmill).This activity is part of how he defines
himself.He has found his little niche.Some people do things like build model
airplanes or mountain bike.This guy
Urban Camps For Savings.

If I may make a suggestion…If Dio Guy is trying to get attention and save money as an afterthought,
why not camp out at Best Buy all year long?That can be “his thing”.Every single day people will walk by and ask
how long he’s been there.“Yeah, I’ve
been out here since Dec 26th of last year.Tough winter, but Spring was nice.Got hit by lightning in July, but the burns
have healed up real nice.The folks at
the Arby’s let me wash up in the men’s room every morning and clean out my slop
bucket.Only 117 more days til Black
Friday man!”. This is the type of total commitment to mindless consumerism
that the media loves.Good Morning
America will send out a crew.20/20 will
stop by.Leno and Letterman will mention
him in his monologues.Is this an ideal
life?No, but it has to be better than the
grim existence he’s scratching out now…

Monday, November 19, 2012

Nurse the Hate: No Sleep

By Sunday I believe I was ready for a total physical
collapse.Days of poor sleep in creepy
Detroit hotel rooms had finally taken their toll.Even when I did manage to sleep, unsettling
dreams shook me awake in total darkness.What can be more unfair than to be stressed out of your mind, unable to
fall asleep, and then have a dream fuck you up when you do? Our schedule this week was insane. Studio, studio, studio and then a straight drive to a gig in Akron. I finally got home at 3:30 am. The three and a half hours of sleep Saturday
night gave me just enough energy to wake up and go to the grocery store where
shoppers floated by me giving me the same wary look you give an inner city pan
handler.It probably didn’t help that I
was quietly singing a new song I was working on in my mind slightly under my
breath like a mental patient.Yet, I had
been here before…

When The Cowslingers were at their best, in my opinion
1998-2000, we toured like motherfuckers.Playing 125 shows a year is a pretty heavy schedule.Playing 125 shows a year while continuing to
be a full time white collar employee or college students is insane.We had a touring circle that went from New
York to Atlanta over to St Louis. We
would play anywhere at anytime and were receiving great show offers all over
the place.Our philosophy was always “we
can make that work” and then figured out how to make it work on the fly.Next thing you know you were chock full of
mini thins driving the van at 4:30 on a Thursday morning trying to figure out
if you should stay on 75 South or take 280 to get home.

I remember we had run out of vacation time and had a series
of shows.I was working at a radio
station in sales, and needed to show up every morning by 8:30 in a suit looking
like I was doing important things in advertising.My douchebag boss would climb up my ass if I
was even five minutes late, despite the fact that I was paid on 100%
commission.My mindset was you are only
paying me for what I sell, so who cares if I show up at 8:30 or at 2:00?Or even at all?As long as I was hitting my goals, which I
was, leave me the fuck alone.This
philosophy was not shared by management.

We played Chicago at Schuba’s on a Wednesday night with
Robbie Fulks.We played first, hastily
loaded out, and hopped in the van to drive back to Cleveland.I walked into my house at about 5 a.m. to try
and get a little sleep.I made it
through Thursday at work on adrenalin.I
recall being pretty with it and all jacked up on coffee.As I slunk out of the office at 4:30pm, I
hoped nothing would blow up.This is all
pre-cell phone, so when you left the office you would have to call in to make
sure nothing was wildly out of control.Leo
would be serenely chomping on a corn dog at a Speedway while I nervously
checked my messages on the payphone outside.I prayed that a client hadn’t called my manager with an issue.If all was OK, you hopped back into the van
for a few hours and hoped crisis was still being averted.

We got to Kalamazoo to play Small Planet that Thursday night
with Robbie Fulks and the Volebeats.We
played second that night, and even hung out a little bit to watch Robbie
play.That guy is so talented, he had to
be wondering how his life had taken such a turn to be playing a string of dates
with shaggy dogs like us.On any given
night, we could be really really good, but Robbie is an actual talent.He knows what the hell he is doing up there
with his band of ringers.It was a drag
to have to climb into the van to drive home, but no matter what I had to be at that fucking cubicle Friday morning
at 8:30. I got home around 5:00 am.

That Friday morning was tough.I literally dragged myself into my car to
drive in.I felt wrung out.It was one of those commutes when you have no
recollection of the drive, even moments after shutting off the car.I spent a lot of time at work walking around
with folders and documents, making a public show of this alleged sales
activity.“Just a guy involved in
monster deals here.Nothing to look at.Turn your attention elsewhere.” I tried to sleep in my car for an hour, but
was so pumped full of caffeine to stay awake, sleep was impossible. I left the station around 4:30, leaving my
desk as if I had only walked away for a moment, and went to get things in order
for a gig at The Grog.

We had some sort of equipment issue so I had to drive across
town to pick up some gear.Traffic kept
me at a stop and go pace.By the time I
got home, I had to change into my cowboy suit to hump it over to the club.There was no nap.Another bonus?We were playing last on the bill, so that meant
a few hours of time to kill.This is the
dangerous time for a man with no sleep.If you are standing in the Grog Shop at 9pm waiting to play at 12:30,
there is one thing to do:drink
beer.And that is what I did.When all was said and done, I’m sure I got home
about 3:30am.Sleep should have come
easily…

Having a rental property is great.The additional income was huge for me in my
twenties.The call from downstairs of the
duplex about the broken toilet at 8:30 am Saturday morning was not so great…The upstairs and downstairs units were the
same.One bathroom and two
bedrooms.There would be no way to delay
this repair.I had to deal with it.I was out of bed.I was awake.The van left Cleveland for Cincinnati at 4:00…

I don’t remember that Saturday gig at all.I think it was at Top Cats and we played
last.I think it was us, Robbie Fulks,
and the Volebeats again. It might have
been Bengals Stadium with The Who.I
honestly can’t recall.I’m sure we
stayed at a friend’s place, as during these Early Days of Bitter Struggle we
never coughed up for a hotel.That meant
I slept on a couch or maybe a floor at about 3:45 am.The issue when you stayed at someone’s house
was that you would have to stay awake with the host.They always wanted to have a few beers and
hang out, and I always want to go to sleep.The good news is that Leo will always stay up with anyone that wants to
party, and there can often be an opportunity to slink off. I didn’t really perfect that slink off move
until years later, so I am sure I politely sipped a beer until late (or early
morning depending on your vantage point).

I had probably slept 14 hours from Wednesday to Sunday
morning as we climbed in the van to drive back to Cleveland.This is not what most physicians would recommend
as a regular health regime.I had become
so overtired that sleep became elusive.I had every intention of spending Sunday sleeping all day.It just didn’t happen.I went to bed around my normal time and set
my alarm to go to work Monday.It was
almost impossible to get out of bed and into the shower.My head was achy.I couldn’t concentrate.I was not what you would refer to as “sharp”.

At lunch that day I went to a tavern near the office with
two co-workers. It was a popular lunch place and we had to take one of those
high top tables.I remember a woman I
worked with talking to me when things got fuzzy.I got a warm flush feeling in my head and
then something shut off.The next thing
I remember was being very confused as to why a large group of people were
staring down at me from above.I had
passed out cold and fallen onto the tile floor.People were understandably curious as to why this man in a suit was
unconscious at Noon on a Monday.“Dude…
you should cut the partying.” I heard someone say.I was taken to the Cleveland Clinic, given a
battery of tests that were inconclusive, and then later released.They told me to come back if I kept passing
out.It seemed reasonable advice.

I can honestly say that is the last time I have felt similar
to how I felt yesterday.I feel like I
am missing a key vitamin in my diet.Is
this how you feel before you develop scurvy?
Is this ache in your side normal? My advice to you is as follows.Avoid being in the area if you see me behind the wheel of a powerful
automobile.Do not allow me to handle
any power tools.While this is always a
good policy, it is especially so today.Don’t
hold me to anything I say today.I have
no idea what I am talking about.I may
speak in tongues if I don’t get at least seven hours of sleep tonight. How the hell did Leo do that 84 hours?

Saturday, November 17, 2012

Nurse the Hate: Victory Is At Hand

This week I am going to get after it.The key last week was to recognize that
I was going to lose going into it with my suicidal Jets play.I limited my losses as best I could,
but yet there was something satisfying about leaping into the fires screaming
out curses to the Gods.We all get
what we deserve and in this case I certainly did.A good old fashioned ass kicking.

I am about as cold as I have ever been picking football
games.This is when those with a
weak stomach would put their tail between their legs and go home.Not me though.I will march ahead into the brave
unknown with a sense of confidence that has absolutely no basis in reality.This morning I believe that the Gods
will right my path.It has been a
very tough few weeks.There is a
peak and valley to things though.Things do turn around.They
will turn around this week, and I invite you to share in the spoils.

(I would like to take just a quick moment to point out that
I don’t believe any of the last statement either.If I am ice cold going into the week, why would it turn
now?There is no reason to believe
I haven’t bottomed out.In fact,
this may only be the beginning of an even worse slide.Who knows?I’ve been cooped up in a windowless recording studio totally
shutoff from the planet for days.I have no idea of what is going on with the world.The only thing I know is that I have to
knock out a shitload of vocals this morning or we are going to fall horribly
behind schedule on this new record.Do you think I have any insight on these games?Hell no!I just figured out who was playing who about ten minutes
ago.Doesn’t matter though.I am in for the entire ride.No matter how turbulent things get,
the natural order will prevail.Always.)

When West Virginia got into the Big 12, everyone bought into
the fact that their Air Raid offense and lightning quick players would make
them a monster team.They had
looked awesome in the Big East, so moving into this higher profile conference
would only show more of America who they were as a program.Well, it turns out that the guys in the
Big 12 are pretty fucking fast too.It also turns out that the Big East isn’t really a good gauge of how you
will fare in the Big 12.It turns
out the Big East kinda sucks.It
turns out facing these big time football programs of the Big 12 week after week
is a real issue.

This week West Virginia faces Oklahoma at home.I have a soft spot for West
Virginia.There are lots of good
people there that don’t have much to get excited about other than WVU sports
and hoping they win the lottery.Good folks.I don’t bet
with my heart though.There has
been no evidence that West Virginia is capable of beating an elite Big 12 team,
so I don’t see why it will happen today.They are 2-7 against the spread with the sole bright spot a win against
what turned out to be a subpar Texas team.West Virginia can’t stop anybody.This tends to be a problem in football.However, they can score points.I am going to do something stupid and
tease OK-4.5 and OVER 67.5.

I love to bet on teams that The Public hates.It’s especially good when these teams
play a team that The Public loves.Dare I say I spot a perfect storm on Sunday when the shaky Dallas
Cowboys take on the always terrible Cleveland Browns in Dallas?Dallas is not very good.You think they are, but they
aren’t.You know why you think
they are?Because they get so much
media coverage you think Dez Bryant is as good as Larry Fitzgerald, when it
turns out that he’s only as good as Dez Bryant.If Jerry Jones mutters something under his breath, ESPN runs
with it as the lead story on SportsCenter for two days.It makes Dallas seem like a big deal
when all they are is a .500 franchise.Meanwhile, there probably isn’t anyone outside of the NE Ohio area that
can name more than three Cleveland Browns.

This game is going to be ugly and maybe unwatchable.It will be a complete waste of your
time to even gaze in the direction of a TV broadcasting it.Avert your eyes.But don’t be a fool.Take Cleveland +8.5.It’s way too many points.Dallas doesn’t beat anyone soundly as a
favorite, and Cleveland is good at just sort of hanging around.

There are two games that go against popular opinion this
week, and I am hitting both of them.In Pittsburgh, Ben Roethlisberger has some horrible injury where his
heart could get punctured by a dislocated rib.The great thing about the NFL is that there was serious
discussion if he would play.I ask
you, if someone told you your heart could be punctured by your rib, would you
say “Let’s discuss the possibility of me running around with eleven guys that
weigh 250+ pounds trying to hit me as hard as they can.Can I do that four days from now?”.I would be nestled inside of a plastic
bubble in a room full of Styrofoam packing peanuts.The Public will now overreact to the fact that they will not
get to see Roethlisberger die in a spectacular geyser of blood on the 50 yard
line, and will have to watch the Steelers play with discarded QB Byron
Leftwich.Now Pittsburgh is
getting 3.5 at home?I’m on
it.They always win with defense
anyway.The Public is heavy on
Baltimore, so go the other way.Pittsburgh +3.5.

The Lions have been very disappointing.This is a way of life in Detroit where
they have been largely disappointed by such things as their city collapsing,
roving packs of mongrel dogs, complete lawlessness, and the Lions.Detroit plays Green Bay this week at
home, and the Pack is Back baby!The Packers look like the Packers again whereas Detroit just lost to the
Vikings.I choose to accent the
positive.Green Bay is really
banged up right now.The NFL is so
brutal because with the salary cap, you can’t build depth.Green Bay is running a lot of guys out
on the field right now that Jacksonville looked at and said “Nah.We’ll keep our shitty guy
instead.”.No Clay Mathews
Jr.No Charles Woodson.NFL coaches are really good at creating
situations where Calvin Johnson gets to run out for a pass against Shitty Mc
Shitterson.

This game is the biggest lopsided bet in Vegas right now
with heavy public money on Green Bay.I love hearing stuff like that even if it probably is
misinformation.I’m going with it.I think the Lions win at home and those
blowhards in the postgame shows all slap their foreheads and say “Whoa! What an
upset!”.Detroit +3.

The past is gone and there is only the future.Some of us will drink deep from the
chalice of victory.Some of us
will stroll tropical beaches without a care.At last the pieces will all fit together.The moment is at hand.Shed the past.At last we will enjoy the triumph of
victory without regret.Bask in
the glory of what has been pre-ordained.

(That was the part to psyche myself up.Boy do I hope things turn around this
week! I can’t take much more…)

Friday, November 16, 2012

Nurse The Hate: Dare To Dream

I woke up out of sorts after some unsettling dreams.It’s an odd thing about dreams.You can go to sleep with your mind in
one place, and then without warning you are walking in a field of daisies
having a conversation with someone and their deceased mother.It’s so real.Then you wake up, turn on the television and see that the
Florida Marlins have traded every legit ballplayer they had except Giancarlo
Stanton, and you really have to question reality.What is reality?Has the world gone mad?

I always knew that Florida Marlins owner Jeffrey Loria was a
cheap hustler.First of all, can
you trust someone that goes by Jeffrey instead of Jeff?Jeffrey is the name of an interior
decorator, video artist, or sissy boy in knickers.In this case, Jeffrey is the kind of guy that bullshits a
city into building a $650 million dollar stadium by telling them he’s bringing
in players, and then bails out as soon as he gets his side of the deal.

The way the new stadium deal in Miami was supposed to work
was like this:The City of Miami
would pony up an unreal amount of money to build a new baseball stadium.The team had been largely unpopular
because of two reasons.1) The
Marlins would dump all their good players instead of paying them; hence the
fans hated the team.2) It’s
Southern Florida and there are about 700 better things to do than go see a
crappy baseball team play.Jeffrey
Loria and his little weasel stepson David Samson convinced the city on the
Field of Dreams gambit.Build it
and they will come.

The City had some reservations.“Well, if we just go and build you a giant $650 Million
dollar stadium to drive your revenues, how can we be sure you won’t just dump
payroll anyway and keep all the money?”I think the Loria’s response was along the lines of “Oh, don’t
worry.We won’t.”That apparently was enough for the City
of Miami to, according to my calculations, give the Loria Braintrust enough
money to feed, clothe, and house everyone in South Florida.Oh, that’s right.They didn’t spend the money on
that.They built an eyesore of a
baseball stadium that no one will go to instead.Good plan Miami!

Why the people of Miami have not pulled this man naked and
screaming from his home I don’t know.It’s time for torches and pitchforks.He stole all of your money.He betrayed your trust.To top it all off, he doesn’t feel bad about it in the
least.In fact, he’s pissed you
are even questioning him.You
catch that quote he had at the owners meetings? “Not today boys.If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m
not going to figure it out for you.”How did someone from Miami not punch him in the face?He’s soft.He’s not ready for the physical violence he so richly
deserves.

If I am a resident of Miami, I am demanding that the city
take over ownership of the team.You paid for it, it should be yours.Eminent Domain.Get those city lawyers to dream up some crazy nonsense.I would also recommend that on Opening
Day you march that little shit Samson out to centerfield and rip his teeth out
with pliers.Put it on the
Jumbotron to serve as a lesson for all.Zoom in on the crying.We’ll all like that.

Miami, it’s up to you.That’s the thing about dreams.Dreams can come true.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Nurse the Hate: Hate Recording

We are heading into the studio tomorrow to start work on our
tenth full length release as The Whiskey Daredevils.The Cowslingers did nine as well.If you would have told me when I was 21 that
I would have been involved in releasing nineteen full length music releases that
people actually had some interest in, I would have laughed until I wet
myself.This is as good a time as any to
admit I have absolutely no God given musical talent whatsoever.I have surrounded myself with talented people
and done the rest by sheer force of will.There is a work ethic here and I will proudly say that we do have some
ideas.Are they earth shattering
ideas?No, but we are still making music
that I want to listen to and believe in.

So does the world need another collection of our stupid
songs?Probably not, but that isn’t
going to stop us.The thing that can
really weigh you down is when you consider how many bands have slipped so far
below their once high standards as they age and/or run out of ideas.You know when you read those reviews in
Rolling Stone that say “…this is Pearl Jam’s best record since Ten” or “…probably
the best Stones record since Some Girls!”?Even as you scan them, you know it is complete bullshit.Still, you hold out hope that maybe, just
maybe, it might be true.

The way big corporate magazines like that work is they take
an advertising buy from the label and are expected to create “added value”.The added value often consists of inclusion
in those “about town” photos in the front of the magazine, multi page band
profiles, and favorable reviews.Do you
think Sony is going to spend the money on a three consecutive issue full page
ad run for whatever Rolling Stones Greatest Hits collection they cobbled together
without getting pictures of Mick and Keith looking as cool as trick lighting and
Photoshop will allow?There also better
be a great review of the two new add on tracks to trick the masses for shelling
out $20 to buy yet another copy of “Honky Tonk Woman” on a CD. I can see the review now.“…while Brown Sugar sounds as great as ever;
the new track “Whatever It Is” may actually surpass all the hits surrounding it...”Um, sure it does…

So there you are staring at yet another five star review of
a Bruce Springsteen record that you will never hear another person alive
mention even in passing.This “classic”
album will not produce one song you could even hum back ten minutes after
listening to it.Radio won’t play
it.Still, you may even buy the damn
thing in a moment of weakness at Starbucks.Hell, the magazine said it was good.It must be good right?You will
add it into your iPod library and then reflexively skip the songs every time
they shuffle through.It’s a fool’s
game.

So how do we avoid the same pitfall?How do we avoid being the much, much smaller
version of that shitty Bruce Springsteen record?It’s not as if Bruce thought he was making a
crummy record.I bet he believed in his
songs.How do we maintain some kind of
interest?How can we get you to pay
attention for the thirty odd minutes of music we will painstakingly create for
you and ourselves?

There were two full length records that came out in the last
couple months that bear some thought.I
have always been a Bob Mould fan from Husker Du to Sugar to his solo
stuff.Make no mistake; Bob has made
some very spotty records, especially in the previous eight years.What the hell were those electronic records
anyway?His latest, Silver Age, is
really remarkable.Maybe it was timing
on this, but there have been certain Bob Mould records that have found me at
the right time.This is one of
them.I love this record.This fucking thing blows your head off, and
the songs are there.In reading
interviews with Mould after getting the disc, I was impressed by his effort to
get back to what he did best; loud guitar drums making good hooky songs buried
under the onslaught.He had been so
concerned about being different that he forgot what it was that he really did.He returned to what he did when he was at his
best.It’s like he recorded it 20 years
ago and just now released it.

I also picked up Neil Young and Crazy Horse’s Psychedelic
Pill.This is clearly the best thing
Neil has done since “Ragged Glory” with Crazy Horse in the early 90s.Big messy sludgy Crazy Horse music wails out
on these tracks, especially the three 15 minute plus long jams.I usually hate that kind of shit, but there
are ideas, feelings, and pure power flowing off of these recordings.You can feel how excited they are that they
are doing it.Of course, Neil will
probably break this up and make a terrible jazz record by the time I write
this, but he sure got this right.What’s
he doing?He’s doing what he does.

We have a group of ten songs I wrote the words to at about
the exact same time.They all work
together as one variation of a bigger idea.Gary had some really great riffs bouncing around.I had a few simple melodies.Sugar and Leo came up with good grooves under
the songs.We are going to do what we
do.We are going to make our version of
country punkabilly.Whatever that
is.We are going to set up our
instruments and play the songs.All of
us at the same time like we normally do on stage or in the basement.No screwing around.We are going to stand there and let ‘em
rip.That’s what we have done on the
best of our records, and that’s what we are going to do this time.

It’s a privilege to be able to make music that anyone is
willing to devote some of their precious time and listen to.We’re going to do the best we can. The good thing for us is that we don’t have to
top “Exiles On Main Street” or “New Day Rising”.We just have to be honest with the songs and
performance.That ought to do it.Well, at least I think so.Fuck, that’s probably what Springsteen
thought…With luck, you won’t reach for
the skip button and ask “How did those assholes trick me into buying this?Again?”

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Nurse the Hate: Hate Chicago

The decision to not go to work was an easy one.I just took a left turn where I normally took
a right.I strode into Cleveland Hopkins
Airport at 7am without any luggage or agenda.One hour later I was on a plane to Chicago, sitting uncomfortably while
someone’s travel alarm beeped away trapped in the overhead compartment.I fell asleep at some point, and woke up
rather confused on the runway at Midway.

There is a feeling of liberation playing hooky from your
life like this.It’s Monday and you are
surrounded by people scurrying to get to whatever important task they have been
assigned.You can feel like you are
invisible.No place special to be.You don’t live here.None of this concerns you.People on the train stare blankly ahead,
hoping not to make eye contact with anyone.I’m looking at everyone, making up their biographies in my head.My Monday is going to probably be better than
theirs.

I went to the Trump Hotel and had breakfast on the 16th
Floor.The entire far wall is thirty
feet of glass overlooking the city, a truly impressive dining room.I ate a very expensive egg white omelet and
watched the wealthy clientele casually pick at their food.If you are looking for very relaxed wealthy elderly
Asian women that like to shop, this would be a good place for you to hang out.They are there right now getting ready to buy
things they don’t need on Michigan Ave while their husbands are conducting
business in imposing conference rooms nearby.

It seemed like a good idea to get a Bloody Mary at Gibson’s
Steak House.I used to go to Gibson’s
when I was a little kid.My grandfather
was a big swinging dick insurance guy in town, and we would go to dinner “in
the city” at Gibson’s.I would get a
gigantic steak I couldn’t hope to finish, and my grandfather would argue with
the waiters as he became progressively drunker on martinis.As we would gather our coats to inevitably leave
in disgrace, I would look at the old pictures of personalities I couldn’t
identify from decades ago crowded on the wall.The pictures are still there.My
trip to Gibson’s was different than when I had been there with my
Grandfather.I didn’t argue with the
waiter and I left without incident.

I passed by a men’s clothing store that was having a going
out of business sale.The elderly clerk
had worked there for 24 years.He didn’t
know what he was going to do after the store finally closed.This had been the only work he had
known.I bought a suit that I otherwise
couldn’t afford.The clerk thanked me
and started to tell me to stop in next time I was in town before catching himself.There was an awkward moment as neither of us
knew what to say, and I thanked him for his help and left.

I went up to the top of the John Hancock building.There is a restaurant on the 95th
Floor crowded with tourists.Although it
was 1pm, it seemed like Happy Hour.Pudgy girls with tired eyes hoisted heavy trays of drinks to
overstimulated loud talking tables.In
one of my “Fun In…” photograph series, I had my photo taken as I tried to make
my face completely blank.People stared
at me wondering what the hell was wrong with me.I left immediately afterwards.

The wind was especially cold and cut right through my cheap
jacket.I ducked into Ditka’s Steakhouse
and ordered a Nickel and Nickel Cabernet.A very old woman sat next to me at the bar eating a Cesar salad.She reminded me of my Aunt Rose, a woman that
had not finished a meal in her last 50 years of life due to her constant stream
of consciousness conversational style.This
woman was very excited to have someone to talk to and rattled on about the
merits of various restaurants and her experience in Ohio 65 years ago when she
helped dig an outhouse pit among other things.
Did Cincinnati really still have outhouses in 1947? She confirmed with me the continued existence of Hackney’s Restaurant, a
place my mother believed to make the best burger in the world.However, it was Hackney’s onion loaf, a brick
of onion rings that serve an entire table that impressed my new dining
companion the most. I think she was gladhanding me when she told me the burgers were good. I don't think she thought they were remarkable in any way. As she waited for he
crab bisque to arrive (in two containers so she could take half home), I said
goodbye.It may have been one of the
only things I said in the past 30 minutes.Nice lady who needs someone to talk to.She might still be
working on that half salad.

I went into various shops and absentmindedly looked at the
merchandise. I didn’t need any of
it.Who buys all this stuff?Two thousand dollar bright green
blazers.$800 dress shoes.Watches that cost as much as a reliable automobile.
Clerks could tell with even a cursory
glance that I was not a “serious” customer.I felt guilty even walking into certain places.I kept waiting for someone to say “Sir!If you have to even look at the price, you
probably do not belong in here!”.I did
see a beautiful necklace that would make a wonderful gift.I decided that maybe I will swing by and get
it later.Or maybe I will get that green
blazer instead.I’ll just have to see
how it plays out I guess.

I settled in at Joe’s Steak for a feast.Not to eat steak in a Chicago steakhouse
seems wrong, but what the hell.This was
my day and I was calling the shots.Chicken,
brussel sprouts, and what were claimed to be the best mashed potatoes in the
world.(They weren’t.I will take Blue Point’s lobster mashed any
day, but these were still pretty damn good.)The 2009 Shafer Merlot is drinking well.The 2007 Ridge Cabernet even better.There is certainly nothing wrong with the 1980 Warre’s Port.I left the restaurant with a warm glow.

I took the train back to Midway.A different group of tired blank faces stared
straight ahead.It looked like these
people could use an eleven hour trip away from their lives.This had clearly been a good idea. Well, a much better idea than going to work anyway.

About Me

As the singer of The Whiskey Daredevils, a group of barely talented dead beat no frills rockers, I travel a great many hours in a van. In this van, many opinions are formed that need to be shared in this space. There are many things that make sense in the van that don't make nearly as much sense in the cold harsh light of daylight. This is not my concern.